And it was Raining
by MollyTheWanderer
Summary: A rainy day in Little Winging leads Harry to find a new friend who had always been there. Not overly angsty. Click to find out more.


**And it was Raining**

**By Molly Jean**

**Disclaimer: Don't own Harry Potter, JKR own Harry Potter...am glad JKR own Harry Potter, nuff said.**

**Authors Note: I love Mrs. Figg. So many people don't give her enough credit. Anyways this idea has been floating around in my head for a long time. It takes place between Harry's fifth and sixth school years. Read and review please .**

****

****

The rain fell in sheets outside Number four Privet Drive, but due to Harry Potter's position on the couch it seemed as if the rain were falling up instead of down. Considering everything he'd been through in the past year, Harry thought this made sense. He closed his bottle green eyes and let the sound penetrate his brain, the perpetual tat,tat,tat,tat permeated everything and washed away all thoughts of school, Sirius...and Voldemort...though it wasn't often that Harry's mind wandered to any of those things anymore. Harry had buried himself in work, he had found a job at a small bookstore in London, and when he was home he did chores or read, mainly biographies and histories, anything as long as it was rooted in the muggle world. "What are you doing?" Harry opened his eyes to find Dudley looking down at his cousin with his head turned to the side, so as to see Harry properly. "Nothing," Harry said and he got up, flopping over and dusting himself off unceremoniously. Harry headed towards the door, "Where are you going?" Dudley asked in a bored tone, he and Harry had reached an uneasy middle ground and were slowly learning to live together in an almost friendly way. "You know Mum doesn't like you going out anymore." Harry shrugged, "Just wandering, I'll be back before dark."

Harry slipped out of the house without a fuss. He stepped off the porch, letting the rain splash against his glasses and soak into his t-shirt, which actually fit as he had bought it with his own money. Harry walked down the sidewalk, contemplating the other townhouses, what Ron and Hermione were doing right now, what Voldemort was... He stopped in front of Number one and glanced behind himself, one of Mrs. Figg's cats sat regally on the sidewalk, obviously following Harry. "Come here then. If you're going to keep an eye on me, you might as well keep me company." The cat gave Harry an almost hurt look, but trotted over anyways, rubbing against Harry's legs. Harry picked the big gray animal up and found his collar "Bruce, huh? Well Bruce, lets see how far we can get before we get bored." Bruce meowed in agreement and they moved farther down the street, finally turning onto Magnolia Crescent.

Harry and Bruce had almost made a complete circle of their little community when it began to get dark. Harry spent most of the time thinking, or talking to Bruce; who switched often between walking beside Harry, and being carried. Harry told Bruce about his job, about why he liked both muggle stuff and wizard stuff the same, about how he was looking forward to being able to play quidditch again, about Dobby and Buckbeak, about wizard candy and how his first wizard card had been Dumbledore, Harry talked about anything and everything...except Sirius, and Voldemort...It actually surprised Harry that he could ignore Voldemort so easily, even when he knew that the madman was inside his head all the time, and he was inside Voldemort, a part of Voldemort....

"Harry, is that you? What are you doing out in the rain?!" Harry and Bruce turned to find Mrs. Figg yelling at them both, "Come inside this instant. You'll catch your death of cold and then where would we be." Harry complied; Bruce leapt from his arms as they crossed the threshold and curled up by the fireplace, purring loudly. Mrs. Figg disappeared into the kitchen, coming back with a few towels and a goblet of something that smelled unusually good. The old woman pushed the goblet into Harry's hands and proceeded to towel some of the water out of his hair. "What were you thinking boy, you know not to be outside, especially right now...wandering around, and it's a good thing I sent old Bruce to look after you, even if he wasn't much help." Bruce purred in protest. "Nothing happened." Harry said between sipping at his drink and being jostled by Mrs. Figg's rigorous toweling off. "And we're damned lucky nothing happened too. Take those clothes off, their soaked. You can wrap up in one of the blankets over there." Harry looked up at her, "But-," "No buts, I'll go call your Aunt. You're staying here for the night." Harry was amazed, "But my Aunt, she'll- ," "She already knows, boy. Dumbledore made sure she knew everything that was needed, how do you think you've been able to stay here?"

There was silence, Mrs. Figg nodded and went back to the kitchen. Harry undressed down to his boxers and grabbed one of the garish quilts. He settled down in a chair close to the fireplace, Bruce leapt up onto Harry's lap and curled up again. As he sipped at his drink and scratched at Bruce's head, Harry noticed that the room was pleasantly warm and comfortable, and he was surprised to find that he liked it here. It was the first time that Harry had been in Mrs. Figg's home since discovering that she was a witch, well... a squib, but still. He began to see things that he'd never noticed before, a small photo in which the subjects moved about, a few wizard's trinkets, an old broomstick disguised as a decoration Mrs. Figg came back and took a seat across from Harry, "You're Aunt wants you home as soon as you've eaten tomorrow, says she has something for you to do before you're off to work." Harry nodded, they were quiet for a long time again, Bruce fell asleep on Harry's lap and a few other cats came to curl up around Mrs. Figg. "So, you can do potions?" Harry asked, "You don't need magic for that. By the way, how is it? I don't usually get to entertain our kind as often as I'd like." Harry took another draught from his goblet as Mrs. Figg leaned forward. "It's good, really good." Harry smiled and Mrs. Figg smiled back.

Once he was able to get into some clean clothes (relics Mrs. Figg had kept from her late husband), Harry helped Mrs. Figg with dinner. They sat down at a small table in the kitchen and talked amiably while they ate. It was so nice for Harry to have someone who knew about the wizarding world around, someone who didn't flinch at Voldemort's name, or stare at his scar with a mix of awe and fear in their eyes. After dinner Harry helped wash the dishes and he even fed the twenty some odd cats that came mewling and purring as he pulled out the cans of Good Cat cat food. Again they sat by the fireplace and Mrs. Figg told Harry about her days in Hogwarts until finally the clock on the mantel rang eleven o'clock. "Well, we'll be getting up early tomorrow. I might as well show you up to be boy." Mrs. Figg said, pushing a large brown tabby off of her lap. Harry followed the old woman up the steps and into a small room, not unlike his own back in Number four. The only difference was that this room seemed as if it was lived in, or at least had been lived in at some point. "This used to be my son's room." Mrs. Figg said, a little sadly. "He was killed during the war with Voldemort. That's why I'm so close to Dumbledore you see, I promised to help him take that monster down..." "I-I'm sorry." Harry murmured, "Don't be, that's not your fault." Harry stared at his feet; Bruce came up and meowed at him. "Well, good night then dear. I'll see you in the morning." Mrs. Figg left Harry alone in the small room; Bruce trotted over to the bed, jumped up and whined for Harry to join him. For moment Harry was dumbstruck, why this room? Why when there had to be other rooms in the house did Mrs. Figg chose this room for Harry to stay in? He climbed into the small bed by the window, shocked and confused...but this led to an overwhelming good feeling. For the first time ever Harry was truly happy to have someone like Mrs. Figg in the world, and for the first time in a long time Harry was able to sleep without fear of the nightmares that plagued him regularly.

In a small townhouse in Little Winging an old woman remembered a son and a husband, a cat found a loving companion, a boy slept soundly, and outside it was raining.

**I invented Good Cat cat food. I do not claim it should it exist. Again thanks for reading, please review. Bye.**


End file.
